


The Uses Of Sorrow

by queenwithoutacrown



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Sacrifice, Sharing A Bottle Of Wine, post 1x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenwithoutacrown/pseuds/queenwithoutacrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 1x23. Felicity and Oliver share a bottle of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Uses Of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken by the poem of the same name, written by Mary Oliver. I really like it and thought, it fit for this story. It's a more a drabble, but I needed to get it out after I've watched the episode. Reviews are very welcome.

**_“THE USES OF SORROW"_**

**_  
_**

_Someone I loved once gave me_

_a box full of darkness._

_It took me years to understand_

_that this, too, was a gift.”_

_\- Mary Oliver_

* * *

 

She doesn’t know how to be a human being anymore. How to walk and talk, how to breathe and exist. It seems silly, to forget something this important, essential.

 

There is something heavy inside her soul, something dark that pulls her into a black hole she cannot escape.

 

Voices scream in her head, loud and painful. They have kept her awake all night and day, never letting her forget.

 

She can still taste the dust in her mouth, as walls crashed all around her. The Glades have fallen.

 

And she is the one to blame.

 

She should have known better. Malcolm Merlyn wasn’t one without a back-up plan.

 

Her mistake killed dozens of people, hurt even more. The Glades are ashes, the city is damaged, hundreds homeless. She should have known better.

 

It is her fault.

 

She isn’t able to do more than stare at the ceiling. She doesn’t know how to stop it. 

 

The last logical part that is left, tells her it is shock. Nothing more.

 

 _You will recover. Sooner or later_ , her brain says. Felicity isn’t so positive about it.

 

Her phone is ringing, but she doesn’t care.

 

She is still wearing her dusty dress and her blood-stained cardigan. She doesn’t care.

 

Tears are streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t know how to stop them.

 

How could one, how could she live with so much blood on her hands?

 

_Felicity._

His voice is soft, not like usually. It’s hoarse and broken.

 

She doesn’t ask him how he made it into her apartment. He is Oliver Queen, after all.

 

She turns her head and looks into her eyes, full of shed and unshed tears.

 

In his hand he holds a bottle of wine. Their gazes meet.

 

It is the bottle he promised her all these months ago, before the hood, before the secrets, before the fall.

 

 _1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild_.

 

He gets them two wine glasses, opens the bottle and pours some wine into each of them.

 

It is May 16th, she realizes. 

 

_Happy Birthday, Oliver._

Oliver doesn’t react. Instead he takes her hand and pulls her up, so she is now sitting on her bed.

 

 _Drink_ , he says as he hands her the wine glass.

 

His face is full of sorrow and sadness. It’s a mirror of her soul.

 

She takes a sip. Her tongue finally tastes something other than dust and smoke.

 

Guilt creeps into her bones. She shouldn’t enjoy anything. Again, she cries.

 

Without a warning Oliver puts away his glass and pulls her into an embrace.

 

For a period of time that feels infinite, they sit together in her bedroom. Still, like statues carved in marble, joined in eternity.

 

Together they mourn the loss of their city and its inhabitants.

 

Oliver mourns the loss of his best friend, Felicity the loss of her innocence.

 

When he lets her go, his eyes are as red as hers.

 

_I should go._

_Please don’t go_ , she wants to say. But she remains silent.

 

Instead she say:  _You are running away, arent't you?_

 

He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes it softly.

 

_Don't try to find me, Felicity._

_I'll let you go, Oliver. For now. But trust me: I'll drag your ass back home, if I have to._

 

He flashes a smile, for just one second.

 

_Of course.  I rely on you._

 

He comes closer and leaves a kiss on her cheek.

 

 _Thank you,_ he whispers. His words feel like wings of a butterfly against her cheek.

 

Oliver then gets up, and leaves her apartment as fast as he entered it.

 

The voices inside her head soften, the darkness in her soul is a little bit brighter now.

 

Felicity looks at her hands. They are not as red as before.


End file.
